


Bobrov’s Birthday Blowout

by helen_of_bikini



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: F/M, no plot to see here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2020-04-07 12:58:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19085533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helen_of_bikini/pseuds/helen_of_bikini
Summary: Sometimes you just gotta give in.





	Bobrov’s Birthday Blowout

Danse was going to get killed if she didn’t do something. Fast.

Marie plunged into the seething, shouting mass of bodies surrounding him. Her nose wrinkled in reflexive disgust as she dove underneath an overripe armpit, but she managed to emerge immediately to Danse’s right.

“Let him go now!” Her plea was futile and drowned out by the noise of the crowd.

What Danse did do when he saw her, however, was grate the merc’s face along the rough concrete, leaving behind a smear of bright red blood. A snarl twisted his lip and darkened his features as he leaned into the smaller man with all of his not-inconsiderable weight. “Apologize to her. Now.”

An onlooker — or another combatant, who the fuck knew?— knocked into Marie from behind, throwing her into the wall next to the merc. That might’ve been the only actual thing that saved her, Danse, and/or the unlucky guy who’d grabbed her ass in front of the Paladin.

“Sshrrr,” the man wheezed. His bugged-out eyes rolled with desperation when he saw her — he knew that Marie was his only chance of survival.

Danse thumped the merc’s head against the wall, hard. “Say it like you mean it, you piece of scum.”

“SHHRRY.”

Marie pummeled ineffectively at Danse’s bicep. The guy was turning purple, for Christ’s sake. “That’s good enough! Apology accepted! Stand the fuck down, now.”

He didn’t exactly listen. Instead, Danse picked the merc up by throat and gun belt and heaved him into the crowd, bowling a half dozen of the drunken agitators down. Head down and shoulders thrown back, he glared at the rest and took two steps forward. Everybody else took four backwards. There were no takers, despite the howls for blood that had been echoing in the room not ten seconds earlier. Nobody, not a single soul, wanted to throw down with one-hundred-ninety pounds of righteous fury in Brotherhood orange.

Well, nobody except for Vadim Bobrov and his shotgun.

“You! You destroy my bar! You ruin my birthday!”

The outraged barkeep racked a shell into the chamber and leveled the barrel at Danse’s midsection. MotherFUCKER. Next time she was leaving him behind, no matter how long he gave her the silent treatment afterwards.

Fine. Whatever.  She’d handle this. Marie pasted her most charismatic smile on her face and inserted herself smack dab between the shotgun and its intended victim. One finger pushed the business end toward the wall, just in case the Russian got a little too excited.

“Vadim, my friend. You wouldn’t kill a man before he’s had his last supper, would you? That’s not the Slavic way.”

Vadim scowled at her and jutted his chin out. “Kitchen is closed.”

She sent a tiny thanks skyward; someone was looking out for them. She couldn’t have asked for a more perfect setup.

Marie slid her voice downward into a ripe, seductive purr. “I’m not talking about food. I’m talking about me. He was defending my honor, after all.” She shrugged with studied nonchalance. “That’s pretty hot. Figure I ought to reward him before you send him to the afterlife.”

As she’d hoped, Vadim threw his head back and laughed in loud, ribald delight, exposing a mouth full of silver fillings and some seriously hairy nostrils. The shotgun was withdrawn and placed on his shoulder.

“Go. Take your man.” Vadim winked over her shoulder with great exaggeration at Danse. “Enjoy your dinner, you lucky devil.”

“I’ll square up with you tomorrow, Vadim. Just put it —“ she looked around the shambles of the bar and grimaced “— put all of it on my tab. C’mon, big guy.”

Marie hooked her finger into the hard metal tab at Danse’s throat, yanked him through the sullen mob, and dragged him towards the exit. The second they cleared the door, she released her hold on him and marched stiff-backed down the alley. She was going home. He could find his own goddamned lodging that night. He sure as hell wasn’t staying at home plate.

But no! Of course he’d follow her. Of course he’d force his way inside her home-away-from-home, even as she pushed against the inside of the door with all of her might.

Fine. Whatever. He wanted a fight? That’s what he’d get.

“What the fuck was that? Are you insane?” she hissed. Marie reached up and laced her fingers behind her head before she punched him in the nose.

Danse was still fired up and wasn’t about to budge an inch. In fact, he leaned forward until his nose was inches from hers. “He touched you. Inappropriately. I rectified the situation.”

“Wrecked is right. You destroyed the bar!” she wailed. “You better hope Doc Crocker can harvest one of my kidneys to sell, because I don’t have enough caps to cover the damages.”

Marie spun on her heel and stalked further into the long room for a much-needed deep breath. Before she could get more than a few steps, he caught her elbow and spun her around.

“I don’t understand your outrage. In the Brotherhood, we treat sisters—“

Her hand flew up in his face. “Nope. I’m not interested in how you’re gonna try to justify starting a brawl. A brawl, Danse! And in case you hadn’t noticed, this isn’t Brotherhood territory.”

“The stench of unwashed humanity is a dead giveaway,” Danse retorted.

The sheer arrogance of his response, coupled with the haughty way he drew back and crossed his arms over his chest had Marie seeing red.

“You know what, Danse? You’re right. We’re lesser beings here in the wasteland. We give into our baser instincts. Maybe I liked getting my ass groped. That’s the most action I’ve had in over two hundred years, after all.” She whipped her arms out. “Maybe I would’ve even let him fuck me.”

“You’d allow that… that bottom feeder to place his hands on you?” Danse’s voice fell into a shocked rumble.

Marie licked her bottom lip suggestively and popped one hip out. “Not so much on as in, if you catch my drift.”

Oh, yeah. He caught that drift, all right. Danse leaned forward and got right in her face again. “If you’re that desperate for a lay, allow me to offer myself as a candidate.”

Taken way, way aback, Marie blinked. Stumbled backwards and blinked again. Gaped like a fish and leaned against the cook stove. Tried to catch her breath.  No… He didn’t mean... That — that was just the anger talking. Perhaps — yes, it would be best if she left, before irreparable damage was done to their relationship. She couldn’t let that happen, ever, no matter what. She’d crash at Piper’s.

Except Danse caught her arm as she sidled by him. “Santangelo. Look at me.”

The coward in her averted her head away — she was afraid to see whatever there was to see in his face. And nervous, the jangling kind of nerves that dampened her palms and made things flutter to abrupt life in the pit of her stomach.

Goddamnit anyway. She had to look.

He — sweet baby Jesus — he was dead serious. He’d meant what he said. She read as much in his direct stare and the way his body seemed to coil inwards. This was a Danse that she, deep in her private thoughts, didn’t believe existed. Wasn’t capable of existence for various reasons, as she’d long ago concluded and accepted.

Yet there he was.

When had she started panting? And why the hell wasn’t he saying anything? He didn’t stop advancing until he’d slowly backed her against the rusted metal of the door. She tried swallowing, but her throat was too parched. His eyes were too intent and his body threw off too much heat and her head was spinning and fuck, she wanted him so bad she could taste the salt of him already.

Danse braced his hands against the door on either side of her head and ducked his head down, close enough for her to see the gold flecks in his irises. “Marie?”

He was asking permission. For something she’d fantasized about for the longest time now.

“Yes. Please. Now.”

She rose on tiptoe, wound her arms around his neck, and closed her eyes. A whirlwind caught and engulfed her, one made of strong arms, hot breath, and an urgently plunging tongue. Really, all one can do when caught in an unexpected storm is ride it out. So she rode Danse’s thigh, aided by her back against the door and his hard hands at her hips, until her legs gave way and he answered her needy moan with a groan of his own. She bit and sucked and clawed back, cursing useless numb fingers that refused to unfasten the stiff buckle at his collar.   

“Ow, ow, ow, hang on.” The bucket of cold water in the form of the door handle jabbing into a still-healing bruise over her left kidney was an unwelcome intervention.

Danse’s touch gentled immediately. Matter of fact, he froze in place and a gamut of fascinating expressions flicked across his face. Shock first, followed by a hint of panic and a healthy dose of “what-have-I-done?” He released his stranglehold on her hips and straightened the leg she’d been plastered to, dropping her down a few inches to her unsteady feet.

Well, that just wouldn’t do. Not at all.

“Oh, no you don’t. I’m not gonna let you cockblock yourself” Marie surged back up against him and palmed the erection that was trapped in his uniform. “Coward,” she whispered into his ear, then squirmed out of reach before he could react.

Quick as a flash, she scampered up the ladder to the platform her bed was on. Tore all the buttons off her shirt, sending them ricocheting off of the corrugated metal walls. As faded flannel fluttered to the floor below her platform, Marie grinned and counted to ten. When Danse still hadn’t made an appearance, she unhooked her bra, balled it up, and chucked it down after the shirt.

His footsteps as he ascended the ladder caused the entire building to quake.

Poor guy didn’t quite know where to look once he got to the top. Face? Tits? Hipbones? Marie didn’t make it easy for him, either, not when she sat on the edge of the bed, crossed her still-clothed legs, and leaned back on the heel of one hand. She in turn took her time surveying him, starting at the top of his rumpled head and ending with the mouth-watering sight of a different head faithfully outlined by the bright orange Nomex of his suit.

She’d done some split-second tactical thinking — if she exerted some control over the situation now, he’d be less inclined to think he’d coerced her into anything later on, once he’d cooled off and the Danse-ness of him kicked back in. So she tipped her chin upwards. Issued a cool command.

“Unbuckle your collar.”

It was somewhat gratifying that he had nearly as much trouble with the damned thing as she had earlier, what with his shaking hands.

“Very good. Now the snaps. Yep, tank top too,” she encouraged when he paused in his disrobing and asked the silent question with a raised eyebrow.

When Danse was left with only the lower half of his uniform held up by hipbones, ass, and that gorgeous erection of his, Marie rose and strolled over, one foot in front of the other, until she came to a halt in front of him. Her fingertips skimmed over his furred belly, causing it to jerk, then slid upwards along the centerline of his chest.

“Your heart is just hammering,” Marie commented. She peeked down between them, then back up. “But I’m honestly surprised you have any blood left elsewhere in your body.”

“I can’t imagine why,” came his dry response.

She stole a quick kiss from his smiling mouth, then issued her final command. “Kiss me, you big oaf.”

Reliable. Followed orders to the letter. That was her Paladin. Yet he was capable of improvisation when the situation warranted. As such, Danse didn’t start with her mouth. Instead he sought the hollow behind her ear, the one that cause her eyes to flutter shut and a murmur of pleasure to slip from her throat. While he threaded his fingers into her hair to tilt her neck even farther, Marie captured his other hand and drew it from her hip to breast. His palm molded around her, forming the perfect cup. The rasp of his calloused thumb across her nipple was better than perfect.

He drew his head back at her soft cry, eyes glittering in the soft lamplight and mouth damp. Her knees wobbled. There he was again. The other Danse. The hungry one.

Yet the other-other Danse still had to ask the question: “Are you sure you want this? There’ll be no going back after.”

“Yep,” she replied, popping the ‘P’ with exaggeration. Then: “You gonna fuck me any time soon?”

Before she knew it, she was flat on her back on the bed, scooped up under the thighs by two big hands and propelled backwards. Somehow he latched his mouth onto her nipple at the same time as he started tugging sharply at her sneaker laces. She cried out and bucked when he used his teeth. Used his ears as two jug handles to yank him back up to her mouth, rubbed her legs together like a cave cricket, and raised her hips to help him free herself from her jeans.

“Your boots! C’mon, flip over. Flip, damn you!”

Marie shoved, Danse grunted and untangled and rolled, and she slid none-too-gracefully off the side of the bed, where his legs had remained. Start where? Boots or uniform? He made the decision for her while she knelt before him, unfastening the final snaps at his hips that kept him confined inside his uniform for far too long.

“Oh, fuck, you’re gorgeous,” she whispered thickly, boots long forgotten. They could stay on. She just had to get that cock in her mouth.

And she did, grabbing him by the shaft and suckling firmly on the head. His hips shuddered underneath her as she pistoned her head up and down. She lived for the way his hands flew out to catch hold of the bedclothes and twist. She fell in crazy, desperate love with the way his back arched and his mouth opened in a soundless cry. Addicted to him with no hope of recovery.

Then his head rolled to the side. Dark, dazed eyes found hers. Danse tangled a hand in her loosened curls and tugged, not all that gently, but hell if it didn’t make her head and cunt both positively swim. With a lithe wriggle, Marie squirmed up onto the bed and knelt over Danse, who lined himself up for her. Bracing her hands on his shoulders, she lowered herself down. Found his broad head, and let him rub against her slick for a second. He pushed, and she dropped, and that’s all it took to seat him to the hilt.

Marie collapsed on top of Danse then. Her body couldn’t handle remaining upright at the same time as trying to adjust itself to the sudden, very thorough invasion.

“Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck,” she gasped into his chest. “Danse. Fuck me. Now.”

Maybe it wasn’t fair to call upon him to do all the work, but he had zero complaints. He grabbed her hips to hold her in place and began to plunge his cock up into her. Over, and over, and over. Fast. Deep. So hot it felt like the room was on fire. And Christ, he was close already — she could feel it in the way his cock was becoming engorged and diamond hard. Diamond hard in Diamond City.

Marie gasped a laugh out at the thought and gathered enough energy to rise up on her knees. Like a magnet, his half-closed eyes fastened on the sight of himself thrusting up into her and he started to shake. His face got hard and tight and his jaw clenched into a beautiful line.

Then he gritted his teeth. Gasped, and slowed. Aww, he was waiting for her. Didn’t have to, though.

“Danse, don’t stop. Checkered flag, lover. Finish. I won’t be far behind you.”

And she wasn’t. He bucked under her, drew his knees up, and started sprinting to the end. The taut ridge of his cockhead acted as somewhat of a match head against a striker — with her g-spot being the striker. Just placing her middle finger on her clit and pressing helped her climb. Feeling him jerking inside her — and hearing him finish, fuck — got her three-quarters of the way to the end. Leaning back against his knees and riding out the diamond-hard end of his orgasm while circling her clit got her to the finish line. Second place, but only by a head. And fuck, it was glorious clenching and quivering and dripping around him. Laughing breathlessly and joyfully and getting enfolded against his chest in hard-yet-gentle, possessive arms.

Danse might’ve ruined Vadim’s birthday, but he’d more than made up for it in her book. And she may not have been entirely truthful about her lack of caps — she’d just sell some of the Brotherhood-issue laser rifles she’d squirreled away to Arturo in the morning. That should cover the damages to the bar. After that, they weren’t leaving her bed for days. Weeks. This time she’d even take his boots off for him.

 


End file.
